


Martin Crieff: Captain, Father, Guard Dog

by smallsteps32



Series: The Other Side [7]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1314208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallsteps32/pseuds/smallsteps32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day had to come eventually. Flora Crieff has a date. It's a shame her father isn't too happy about it.</p><p>As requested by Mattsloved1</p>
            </blockquote>





	Martin Crieff: Captain, Father, Guard Dog

Martin Crieff: Captain, Father, Guard Dog

When the children were home from school for the summer, and MJN was limited to short flights so that there was someone at home to watch them, everyone treated it like an extended holiday. It _was_ an extended holiday, if one’s name wasn’t Deborah Richardson...well, Crieff. If one were so cursed as to _be_ Deborah Crieff, then one would be snowed under piles of paperwork while their husband enjoyed playing Captain in front of their teenage children’s friends.

Which was how Deborah found herself, on a bright July evening, sitting with her back against the headboard, her laptop open on her lap as she plucked at the log-books lain out on the duvet.

They had had an influx of new customers after a sect of an elderly women’s institute had fallen in love with their ‘dashing Captain’ and invited all of their friends to use the same private airline. It was perfect, and would help to fund all of the extracurricular clubs that Flora had signed up for… _all_ of the extra-curricular clubs, even the ones _not_ provided by the school.

Sometimes, Deborah would have given anything to hand her workload over to Carolyn; instead, all Carolyn did was hang around the porta-cabin and annoy them on flights.

“ _Mum._ ” Dougie’s voice rang out through the hall as his feet pounded on the stairs, and a moment later he appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, his hair sitting in dark and messy curls around his head, still dressed smartly, in a jumper and t-shirt that resembled his school uniform a little too much to be coincidental; he bit his lip and wound his hands together as he nodded back over his shoulder, “Dad’s being weird again.”

“Is it his normal brand of weird or a more worrying kind?” Deborah inquired, pushing away her laptop so that she could turn towards him, slipping her legs from the bed; any distraction was a welcome relief. If Dougie, who worshipped Martin and everything he stood for, thought that Martin was behaving peculiarly, then he was probably right.

“It’s like…when he’s trying to be sneaky but he’s really not.” Dougie explained, grimacing in the self-deprecatingly embarrassed way that only twelve year old boys could manufacture; nevertheless, he was obedient, “I’m supposed to tell you to go meet him in the sitting room.”

“Oh, dear lord.” Deborah sighed and rolled her eyes, letting them fall closed for only a moment before she heaved herself to her feet, wincing at the subtle ache of age clinging to her joints; raising her hands into the air in a hopeless gesture, she crossed the room and placed a hand on Dougie’s shoulder, propelling him from the room, “Alright then; you go and do some homework while I sort him out.”

“I did all my homework ages ago.” Dougie scoffed, ducking down away from her hand, Martin’s devious smirk curling his lips. With that, he scampered away to his bedroom, leaving Deborah to watch him go.

“So you did.” Deborah murmured, caught off guard once again by how _well behaved_ their son had turned out.

His work ethic was second only to Martin’s…it was…rather lovely actually; enough to settle a proud smirk on her face and a warm weight in her chest. By the time she had descended the stairs and glanced around the hall, Deborah felt light enough that she might consider humouring her husband instead of putting him right.

That was, of course, until Martin poked his head out of the sitting room, hands gripping the doorframe, red cheeked and expression charmingly pinched into his most erratically neurotic shade, making him look somewhat like Gollum inflated with indignation and smelling a lemon; some things never changed.

“ _Debs – Deborah, in here_.” Martin hissed, bent at the knees as he ushered her towards him, as if that might actually make him more inconspicuous; when she took a second too long to quirk an eyebrow at him, he huffed and abandoned his post, bridging the gap between them to stride forwards, hook his hand around her elbow, and lead her into the room, “Quickly, in here.”

“Into the sitting room?” Deborah drawled, allowing him to drag her inside, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Martin muttered, pulling her around, placing his hands on her shoulders to sit her down, head darting around so that his gaze was on the closed door to the kitchen all the while, “Hurry up – get down, quick, on the sofa.”

“As you wish, sir.” Deborah replied, smirking as Martin’s arms went around her waist to pull her down, so that they could both peer over the back of the sofa; confusion meshed with the familiar fondness in the pit of her stomach, “Dare I ask why you’re acting like a fugitive in your own home?”

“Flora’s in the kitchen.” Martin answered, his tone just as hushed as he glared at the offending room.

“Flora’s _always_ in the kitchen.” Deborah reminded him, but she stayed down, one hand atop the cushions as she relaxed back into Martin’s hold; it _had_ been a long time since she had done anything sneaky, even if it _was_ ridiculous, “That’s where the food is.”

“Yes, I know, but she can’t know we’re here.” Martin insisted, blue eyes widening desperately as he implored her; he threw out his hand towards the kitchen, “Not when we’re talking about her behind her back.”

“I _see_.” Deborah retorted, pursing her lips and nodding sagely; it was always best to let Martin talk himself out before trying to argue, and she had to admit that she was curious, “Why _are_ we talking about our daughter behind her back?”

“Because she’s been acting suspicious.” Martin hissed, biting his lip and rising up, only to dick down again, scrunching up his nose and flushing furiously until his freckles were hidden, “She’s been spending a lot of time out of the house.”

“She spends nine months a year locked up at school.” Deborah sighed, sagging back into the sofa, slipping from Martin’s arms as he remained upright; there was always something nowadays, ever since Flora had started paying attention to what she wore and how she styled her hair, “I don’t blame her for wanting to get out.”

“Come on though.” Martin groaned, sending her his best puppy-dog eyes, perfected over the years, finally tearing himself away from the kitchen door, “You’ve got to admit she’s been acting…dreamy. Dreamier than normal – n-not just clumsy Flora dreamy but properly…dreamy.” Then the suspicion returned to his face and he was creeping back over the top of the sofa, resuming his post, “I think she’s been seeing a boy.”

On second thought, Deborah could see why Martin was panicking.

“Oh…well…” Deborah sat up a little straighter, pushing her hair away from her face and schooling her expression, taking a deep breath; she had already watched one daughter grown up from afar, and the thought of letting another abandon childhood panged in her chest, but…she knew better than anyone what happened when little girls’ lives were dictated for them, “Good for her.”

“N-no, not good for her.” Martin stammered, shaking his head as he gaped at her, as if she had condemned their daughter to death, “I-it’s terrible.”

“Yes, I can see now why you didn’t want her to hear.” Deborah remarked curtly, the need to set Martin right overcoming any reservations that she might have had; he really was being ridiculous, and Flora wouldn’t thank him for it, “God forbid she think her father doesn’t want her to be happy.”

“Oh, she’s going to hear-” Martin growled, fidgeting for only a moment before he tried to launch to his feet.

“No. No, Martin, I’m putting my foot down.” Deborah snapped, and she snatched up his wrist and pulled him back down before he had time to escape; stealing a glance towards the kitchen, she lowered her voice and rose up onto her knees so that she could look him in the eyes, “If Flora’s seeing a boy then we need to be supportive, and more importantly, _not involved.”_

“My daughter i-i-is fifteen years old.” Martin hissed, gritting his teeth and pointing with a shaking hand over the back of the sofa, “I don’t think-”

“ _Our_ daughter has never had a boyfriend before and she might never have one again if you interfere.” Deborah spoke as clearly as she could, taking Martin’s hands and squeezing tightly so that she would understand the gravity of the situation; it was unlikely to work, but there was always hope that he’d overcome his pride and listen to her, “She’ll be mortified.”

“Flora’s never been mortified in her life.” Martin snorted, shaking his head, “She’s like you.”

“Believe me, Martin,” Deborah continued as if he hadn’t spoken, measuring her tone and fixing her jaw, glaring him down, “If my father had interfered with my love life, I’d have never forgiven him.”

“Flora wouldn’t hate me.” Martin squawked, and before Deborah could say another word he carried on, brow furrowing, “Where would she even meet a boy?” he demanded, bringing their hands together and rubbing them together; then he dropped Deborah’s hands and his eyes blew wide, “Oh god. I-it’s all my fault – she met him at those dance classes she’s been taking.” Martin lurched to his feet and began pacing, “Right, r-right, that means I have to fix it, a-and-”

“Martin, what would you have her do?” Deborah sighed, biting the inside of her cheek as she shifted to place her feet on the floor, resting her chin in his hands as she watched him pace, “Stay celibate until she’s forty?”

“Forever.” Martin replied, whirling on his heel to glare down at her; he batted his hand through the air, “I don’t need grandchildren.”

“ _Martin_.” Deborah scolded him, inhaling deeply to keep herself from raising her voice; it was starting to get out of hand, “This is just silly.”

At that moment, the kitchen door swung open and Flora appeared, humming under her breath as she wound her long ginger curls around her fingers, absentmindedly swaying until she laid eyes on her parents. Martin froze as Deborah did her best to turn as if she they hadn’t just been talking behind her back, raising her eyebrows and smiling in welcome.

“Oh, hi Mum, Dad.” Flora greeted them, blushing as she stumbled pulling the kitchen door closed behind her, hands flitting down to rearrange the creased lines of her dress; hardly oblivious, she blinked bewilderedly between the two of them, pausing on her path to the hall, “I didn’t see you when I came in.”

“You walked straight past me.” Martin muttered, hooking his hands behind his back and frowning as he surveyed her; he raised an eyebrow and leaned in, like a crooked inspector, “Distracted, were you?”

“What your father means is…” Deborah interjected, plastering on a smile that would never fool anyone as she hastily thought up a way to save the moment; she sent Martin a scorching stare before meeting Flora’s gaze and shrugging her shoulders, “Did you have a nice day?”

“Yup.” Flora replied, lighting up with excitement and rocking on her heels as she beamed, pressing her hands together as if in prayer, “I’m learning how to dance like women in the fifties. It was a really great day.”

With that, she was gone, twirling from the room and leaving Martin to stare after her, hand extended into the air as if to say ‘I told you so’.

oOoOoOo

The matter of Flora and the not yet confirmed ‘boy’ wasn’t mentioned again for a week. Martin grumbled and paced, but no more than usual, and Deborah honestly believed that they were free of the matter. It had got her thinking, mostly about how she should talk to Flora but really didn’t want to broach the subject, but more importantly, it had opened her eyes to the fact that their children were growing up. They were through another era, of their many, and it was time to accept the new regime.

It wasn’t until long into the evening that the tentative peace was shattered. Martin was lounging on the sofa with a glass of scotch, something that made him grimace with every sip but gave him a sense of Captainly importance, one arm looped around Deborah’s shoulder as she nestled against him, book in her hand.

Dougie was hunched over the coffee table, frantically writing something out by hand; Deborah had a sneaking suspicion that it was his blueprints for a star-ship. Being a pilot like his father wasn’t enough, apparently. No, Dougie wanted to be a star-ship Captain instead, even if he had to design the craft himself. Nobody was willing to shatter his dreams with financial concerns.

Everything was pleasant, until Martin leaned forwards, placing his scotch down and winding his hands together over his knees.

“Hey…hey, Dougie.” Martin whispered conspiratorially, a sly grin creeping over his features as he caught his son’s attention, even though Flora was upstairs texting or tweeting, or whatever it was that she did nowadays, “You’re close to your sister, aren’t you?”

“I guess, sort of.” Dougie answered, narrowing his eyes as he glanced at his mother, lowering his pencil and fidgeting under the weight of Martin’s expectation, “I see her every day.”

“Hmm, yes, I see.” Martin mused, nodding and smiling, far too sweetly calm; it was enough for Dougie to notice, if the uncomfortable pinch of his features was any indication, “You’re competitive, aren’t you? Always trying to one-up each other?”

“Martin, don’t do that.” Deborah interrupted, sitting up and closing her book so that she could raise a warning hand and stare him down; she knew exactly where this was going because Carolyn had done exactly the same thing to them when they had first met, “Don’t use them against each other.”

“It’s not about one-upping her.” Dougie remarked dryly, pouting at the implication that he might be anything but the good student that he strived to be, “It’s correcting her. Flora talks a lot of rubbish.”

“Of course she does.” Martin assured him indulgently; he reached out to pat Dougie’s hand, “But you put her right-”

“Martin.” Deborah scolded him, thwacking his arm with her book and shifting right to the edge of the sofa; he was lucky she didn’t do more, too tired to get truly angry, “I just told you not to do that.”

“So, Dougie…” Martin continued, ignoring Deborah completely as he shuffled closer to the coffee table; if he hadn’t have batted her hand away and bitten his lip in frustration, there wouldn’t have been a single sign that she had spoken at all, “Do you know anything?”

“I know lots of things.” Dougie replied guardedly, wobbling slightly as he glanced between both of his parents; the corner of his lips twitched as he continued, “You’ll have to be more specific, or I won’t know what you mean.”

“I mean about Flora…and boys.” Martin explained, sagging at the look on his son’s face; he looked to Deborah for support, but upon finding none, he dropped the stiff smile and addressed Dougie like an equal, as if he were making a deal, “Has she said anything?”

“I don’t know.” Dougie insisted, throwing his hands into the air, scrunching up his face at the idea and tugging at the sleeves of his jumper; he stared helplessly up at Deborah, who could only nod sympathetically, and stuck out his tongue, “I don’t really _want_ to know. It’s really gross.”

“I just want to know that she’s not being taken advantage of.” Martin exclaimed, dropping back against the cushions and slamming his hands over his face, dragging them down his cheeks. Misery clambered from his throat as if it had any right to be there. It was almost pitiful.

“Believe me, Martin, if anyone messes Flora around she’ll be the first one to break his wrist.” Deborah promised, slipping her hand onto his knee and giving it a squeeze as a flutter of smug pride sparked in her chest. Flora was hardly the smooth operator that she had been, but she could handle herself as well as Martin could.

“She punched Jimmy Carver last week.” Dougie interjected, rising up on his knees with excitement as he nodded vehemently, reaching out to prod Martin’s hand and get his attention, “After he made fun of me for wearing your medals to the school assembly.”

“No, that’s not okay!” Martin exclaimed, gaping between them, flushing with indignation, “No fighting – a-any fighting, at all!”

“Mum?” Flora’s voice floated across the room before any of them knew that she was there; all three heads snapped around to see her standing in the doorway, half hidden as she peered into the room, biting her lip and rocking on her feels, “Dad?”

“Yes dear?” Deborah replied sweetly, honeying her tone as she turned, curling a hand through the air to usher her closer. She was pleased when Flora entered the room properly, twiddling her fingers and smiling bashfully with every step, until she ground to a stop at the arm of the sofa.

“I was just wondering whether…um…whether it would be okay for me to go out on Friday?” Flora asked, pushing her hand through her curls as Martin sat up abruptly; she avoided looking at him, speaking only to her mother, gulping as she took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, “It’s just, I’ve got a date.”

“With who?” Dougie snorted, earning himself a stern glare.

“None of your business.” Flora snapped, pouting and flicking her head back, confidence regained in a matter of moments; again she ignored Martin’s unabashed stare and addressed Deborah, “Mum?”

“You can go.” Deborah replied steadily, curling her hand around Martin’s as he grasped for hers, clinging on for dear life; even though she knew there would be strong words the moment that the children were out of the room, she gave Flora the answer that she wanted, “So long as we set a curfew, and I see who you’re going with.”

oOoOoOo

For all that she had told Martin not to interfere, Deborah was curious. Letting her daughter spend the evening with a boy that she had never met was a terrifying prospect, one that Martin had a full grasp of, but she knew what it felt like…and she didn’t want to exert the pressure on Flora that her own father and brother had exerted on her.

And yet…she really needed to know. So Deborah did her best to appear cool and collected, demonstrating a healthy interest, gave Flora space…and then on Wednesday she found Flora in the kitchen, humming a bouncing tune under her breath. Not allowing herself the time to turn back, she dived straight in.

“Hello, sweetheart.” Deborah drawled as she entered the kitchen, pulling the door shut so that they wouldn’t be overheard; Flora was bustling around the oven, so she came to lean against the counter beside the sink, turning on the charm as she hadn’t had to in years, “What are you up to?”

“I’m baking cupcakes.” Flora chirped, flicking out a tea-towel and spinning around to face her mother, airy smile in place, constant blush lighting her cheeks; there was nothing out of the ordinary at all, “I’m helping Bobbie sell some at the airfield tomorrow.”

“That’s nice.” Deborah nodded and hummed her assent, a genuine warmth spreading through her chest even as she knew that she couldn’t linger; her daughter may have been lacking in talent, but she had initiative, most of which involved using her sweetness to scheme money out of the grounds crew, “I wanted to talk to you, actually…You’ve barely talked about your date.”

“Oh, haven’t I?” Flora inquired, and just like that her eyes darted to the floor as she bit her lip; she was as good at lying as Martin was, with just as much evasiveness, “I forgot, I guess.”

“Are they nice?” Deborah asked without further ado, getting straight to the crux of the matter as she folded her arms and fixed Flora with a single quirked eyebrow. It wasn’t even a question that needed asking; she wasn’t stupid, didn’t get along with those miserable old gits, but young love was blind.

“Very nice.” Flora beamed…then her expression fell and for once she sagged, frowning as uncertainty shrouded her like a cloak, “I like them – I mean, I think you’d like them too. Dad’s really weird about me dating. He keeps muttering and shaking his head and trying his hat on in the mirror.”

“Yes, I had noticed.” Deborah murmured, already dreading whatever Martin had in store for the unfortunate lad that had chosen his daughter’s company; even so, her heart lurched for the look on Flora’s face, so she crossed the room and placed comforting hands on her shoulders, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll have a word with him, see if I can’t bring him around.”

oOoOoOo

“I still think you’re blowing this out of proportion.” Carolyn sighed as from behind his desk she watched Martin pace up and down the porta-cabin, wringing his Captain’s hat between his hands; they were only on stand-by and she had only popped in to ‘say hello’, she had stayed when she saw the desperate look on Deborah’s face as she filled out the day’s paperwork, “It’s only a date – fifteen year olds aren’t exactly imaginative.”

“I’ve been telling him that all week.” Deborah muttered, glancing up from where she was slouched almost entirely over her desk, hand moving slowly over her customer accounts, moving at half the rate that it normally would, “If you can convince him otherwise, I’ll personally buy you a medal.”

“I’d deserve one.” Carolyn retorted, and she rested one wrinkled hand over the other atop her knees as she implored Martin, her strict reasoning the perfect antidote to a week of mounting frustrations, “Really Martin-”

“ _Don’t really me_!” Martin growled, puffing out his chest as he stormed from one end of the room to another, slamming his hat down on his desk and whirling around to the sofa where he could harass Arthur, “This is serious –Arthur! You and I need to make a plan.”

“Are you sure, Skip?” Arthur asked, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he shifted uncomfortably under Martin’s gaze; he leaned sideways to peer across the room at Deborah, what little sense he had bubbling to the surface as he did his best to placate him, “Maybe Mum and Deborah are right.”

“No, they’re not.” Martin retorted simply, and that was that. He didn’t say another word, just stood there, chest heaving, and waited.

“But if this boy makes Flora happy, isn’t that a good thing?” Arthur suggested, raising his palms to mirror balancing scales; he didn’t sound too sure of himself, “She probably thinks he’s brilliant.”

“It doesn’t _matter_.” Martin exclaimed, picking up his hat and squeezing so tightly that it cracked in his palms; his voice lowered into a devious hiss, and Deborah rolled her eyes in despair as he spoke, “How would you feel i-if you knew Bobbie was out with some- with some boy, a-and he had his hands all over her, manipulating her a-and saying… _things_ to her.”

“I wouldn’t like it at all.” Arthur’s eyes went wide and he nodded slowly, as if the weight of the world had presented itself to him in the form of their gallant Captain throwing his temper about. He shuffled right to the edge of the sofa, hands curling into the cushions as his misguided sense of duty clouded his expression, determinedly pinching his brow.

“For God’s sake.” Carolyn groaned, offering Deborah a look filled with pity that for once Deborah was willing to accept, “Why do men have this ridiculous need to deny their daughters a social life?”

“I’m looking out for her wellbeing.” Martin spoke almost as if to himself, pacing again, nodding to himself, gnawing on his lip, “Arthur, you’re in?”

“In what?” Arthur replied, blinking in confusion.

“A stake-out!” Martin nearly yelled, throwing a hand out as he dragged his other through his hair, his every movement shaking as he did so.

“Oh yes, because every girl wants that.” Deborah remarked caustically, giving up and slamming her pen down, slumping back into her chair as she stared at her husband, just as pedantically ridiculous as the day they had met; just as it had been from the beginning, she was seriously considering wringing his neck, “Nothing says romance like Dad following you round in his van.”

oOoOoOo

Friday night came before anyone was ready for it. Martin had worn down the carpet with his constant marching back and forth, worn down Deborah’s psyche until she wasn’t even aware that it was time to go. Even Flora was running late, barely dressed, although that seemed more symptomatic of giddy excitement than trepidation.

Deborah was in the sitting room rearranging her classical CDs with Martin at her back when the doorbell rang, and Flora’s footsteps clattered down the stairs.

“That was the doorbell.” Martin noted, head snapping up like that of a terrier; his hand slipped from her shoulder down to her elbow, hooking his arm through hers to pull her towards the hall, “Now, let’s go.”

The sound of low voices, indecipherable from where they stood, carried through the door.

“Martin, no.” Deborah hissed, using her weight to pull Martin back to her side, turning him around so that there was only an inch between them; she stared him straight in the eye, pursing her lips as she placed a finger under his chin and held him to attention, “Let her answer the door herself.”

“Please, _Deborah_.” Martin begged, bending at the knees so that they were level, “If you do one thing for me as my wife-”

“I’ve given you two children.” Deborah retorted, leaning back indignantly as she forced herself to swallow back the desire to say something more.

“And they’re great.” Martin placated her, placing his hands on her upper arms as if that might give him the upper hand; he even took a step to the side, ducking down in an attempt to escape, “But I’d like to go and interrogate that boy.”

Before he could take more than two steps, not nearly far enough to escape Deborah as she made a grab for him, the door opened. They froze and hastily snatched their hands to themselves as Flora slipped into the room, still in her track-suit bottoms and a t-shirt, and pulled the door ajar, arm extended so that nobody could follow her just yet.

“Mum, Dad…um…this is my date.” Flora announced, more shrill and nervous than Deborah had ever heard her, her hands shaking as she looked between them; immediately, Deborah moved closer to Martin as she felt him do the same, and the silent show of solidarity was enough to make Flora nod, to spur her on, “This is Yasmin.”

With that, Flora stepped aside…to allow a girl, her own age, to step into the sitting room.

It took a lot to catch Deborah off guard, but she was fleetingly impressed that Flora had done it. In a second, her gaze flashed up and down the girl, taking in her light brown skin, her black hair tied neatly in a ponytail, her simple dress, and the way that her hands wound behind her back as her anxiousness made itself perfectly clear.

“Oh.” Martin let out a breath that was barely a whisper, and when Deborah turned her head he was glancing at her, slipping his arm behind hers to take her hand.

“Oh, well…hello Yasmin.” Deborah surged into action, taking the moment by the horns as she always did, reasserting everything that she had been preparing herself for and turning it around; she stepped forward and offered her hand, smiling a warm smile as happiness and nerves for her daughter tumbled in her stomach, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Mrs Crieff.” Yasmin replied, taking Deborah’s hand and shaking it, worrying her lip between her teeth; her hand trembled as she retracted it, but she held it out towards Martin, looking back to where Flora was watching with baited breath, “Mr Crieff.”

“Captain.” Martin corrected her as if in a daze, reeling off his usual mantra; at a glance, he actually _did_ seem to be in a daze, his eyes wandering between Yasmin and Flora as if he were seeing a new sun, mouth opening and closing.

“Dad!” Flora exclaimed, blushing furiously. That snapped him back to life like slap in the face.

“Sorry, I-I-I…hello Yasmin.” Martin stumbled forwards and took Yasmin’s hand, shaking it and hurrying back to straighten the lapels of a jacket that he wasn’t wearing, “Please to meet you, um…Y-you two can, um – we’ll leave you two alone for a bit. You’ve probably got a lot to prepare –Flora’s not ready yet, I-I, um…”

 

Martin slipped an arm around Deborah’s waist and all but dragged her through to the kitchen, closing the door behind them. The last thing she saw was the relief flooding Flora’s face as her limbs sagged and she was left alone with Yasmin…her date…not quite what they had been expecting.

“Well…” Deborah exhaled raggedly, folding her arms, then unravelling them to trail her fingers through her hair; she only realised that Martin was standing frozen when she tried to pass him to sit upon the table, only to find her path impeded, “I honestly didn’t see that coming.”

“She’s a girl.” Martin said, the words coming out as he blinked, just blinked, nevertheless turning to follow Deborah’s path past him. He didn’t look as if he knew what to do with his hands, but settled for holding his chin. “Flora’s dating…a _girl_.”

“I noticed.” Deborah agreed, nodding sagely as she sat and rested her arms on her knees. Now that she had the benefit of two minutes of processing, she couldn’t help but be quite proud of Flora…at that age, she didn’t even have the guts to bring _anyone_ to see her father.

“That is…” Martin grasped in the air, searching for the right word, narrowing his eyes and peering into the middle distance as he held his breath and closed the gap between them, taking Deborah’s hands; then he exploded, “ _FANTASTIC!”_

“Oh, right…well, yes, I’m pleased for her.” Deborah remarked, caught by a laugh that simmered behind her tentative smile, knocked back by the strength of Martin’s joy; she kept hold of his hands, sitting forwards until her knees met his stomach while he grinned, positively glowing with cheer.

“Don’t you see?” Martin dropped down into a frantic whisper, wringing Deborah’s hands and planting a kiss on her forehead, stammering, apparently unable to find one course of action, “This is perfect, i-it’s amazing – this is the best possible thing that could have happened. It’s not a boy!”

“You’ve lost me.” Deborah replied, shaking her head, unable to keep the smile from her face any longer. Martin was mad, completely and utterly so, but there was charm in the madness and she couldn’t help but get caught up in it. All the better, it was good to see him so thrilled when it came to their daughter.

“Think about it!” Martin grinned, the laughter lines in his face creasing as he practically vibrated, “When boys go out, i-it’s all ‘ _phwoar’_ and ‘ _get in there’_ –b-but when girls go out, it’s terrifying! I was terrified that some boy w-would break her heart, b-but it’s not a boy – it’s a girl!” with a lengthy exhale, he finally calmed, gazing down at her completely content with the world, “Her dad’s probably at home feeling just as scared as I am!”

“I see.” Deborah assured him, bringing their joined hands over her heart and letting her forehead rest against his, “A healthy dose of Captain Crieff logic strikes again.”

They broke apart as the kitchen door opened, and Flora appeared. A smart dress and a comb had transformed her into one of the two most beautiful girls Deborah had ever known; she must have been listening when Verity taught her all her tricks.

“Hey…so?” Flora cleared her throat when neither of her parents knew what to say, simply shrugged their shoulders at her; as always, it spurred her on to speak her mind, “Yasmin’s a girl. I um…I didn’t tell you because I-I-I, I wasn’t sure how you’d feel.”

“He’s ecstatic.” Deborah promised, patting Martin’s arm as she slipped from the table and came to stand at his side, carried once more by the tickle of excitement at the idea of her daughter’s first date, “So am I. A first date’s a big thing and you’ve picked someone with manners....my first boyfriend greeted my father with a fist bump, so she’s doing well all things considered.”

“You’re really okay with it?” Flora asked, voice like glass as she waited for an answer. In all her life, Deborah had never seen her so frightened; she needed to be handled carefully. So, of course, Martin handled her as he did everything, before there was time to stop him.

“Are you joking?” Martin snorted, nudging Deborah’s arm with his elbow as he passed her by and traced the backs of his knuckles over Flora’s cheek, pushing back her hair with an affectionate smile, followed by clumsy words, “Girls are great –boys, eugh, boys are horrible –we’re menaces. Ask your mother, she’s been through enough of them.”

“We’re fine with it.” Deborah cut in, catching his eye as he stepped back; he could be dealt with later, “If you’re gay-”

“I might not be.” Flora interrupted, raising her hands and blushing all the more as she cocked her head to the side in a ‘so-so’ sort of gesture, “I might be…a mix of things, but I…I’m still working that out, but I like Yasmin.”

“Alright.” Deborah remarked quickly; when Flora’s expression didn’t ease, she took her cheeks in her hands and pulled her into a hug, wrapping one arm around her back while she traced the fingers of her other hand over her hair, “That’s alright…it _really_ is, now stop looking so worried.”

“Thank you.” Flora sniffled into Deborah’s shoulder, curling her arms around her, a warm and solid counterpoint to the twist in her stomach at the thought of letting her go; Flora made no effort to move away, even as Martin tucked in and wrapped them both in his arms the best he could, “I love you guys.”

That was the last straw, it really was.

“Come on now, that’s enough.” Deborah sighed, nudging Martin away from them and holding Flora at arm’s length, helping her tuck her hair back into place; she wanted to stop and stare for a moment longer, but she was the one that was supposed to keep things together, so she did just that, “Your date’s waiting.”

Flora gasped, hands flying to her mouth, then she was gone, flitting from the kitchen. A moment later giggles wafted into the room, then they were gone with the slamming of the front door.

Unsure of what to do next, Deborah reached out…and Martin’s hand found hers. Everything was going to be alright; it always was, after all. Later that night, she was certain, Flora would sit up in bed long after her bedtime, and when she went in to tell her off, they would end up talking into the night.

It was quite an exciting prospect.

“Are you still going on a stake-out?” Deborah inquired, turning to Martin so that she could see the way he stared at the empty space, a peculiar lilt to his expression that she hadn’t seen in a while and couldn’t quite place.

“No…no, I think she knows what she’s doing.” Martin replied, as if in a trance, blinking his way through a haze that only he could see, making Deborah more proud of him than she had been in weeks. He cleared his throat loudly, then nodded. Then nodded again. Then Martin nodded even harder and ran his hand through his hair, shuffled his feet.

Deborah leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, touching her palm to the other before retreating. It was going to be a long night. It was only when she stepped back and made to cross the room that Martin surged into action. He lurched across the kitchen table and snatched up the keys – her keys, not his.

“No, I changed my mind – I’m calling Arthur.”

%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> On another note, for my uni project, some friends and I have put together an anthology of short stories and poems, which is now for sale, very cheap, on Amazon - it's called 'Two Steps Forward' one of the authors being me, Amy Cooper, among others.
> 
> If you do take a look, I have used one of my original character from my fics, you'll know which one when you see it, but everything else is far from these fics and Cabin Pressure. I made sure of it.


End file.
